Боги Азбучных Истин

 

The Gods of the Copybook Headings

Раньше Боги учили по прописям:

"Не кради", "Не влезай - убьёт".

Это было скучно и плоско -

Где масштабы? Где горизонт?

Пусть макаки зевают над азбукой:

"Пламя жжёт и мочит вода". 

Балаганные Боги праздника 

Обещают жизнь без труда. 

Прописные вечные истины

Годятся для обезьян.

А мы полетим за Прогрессом

И устроим в пути балаган.

Боги Азбучных Истин

Бубнили нам что-то вслед.

Потоп наслали на землю,

Но толку, как прежде, всё нет.

И я, перерождаясь,

Сквозь призму сотен веков

Глядел благосклонно, каюсь,

На Балаганных Богов.

Балаганные Боги

Кривлялись на радость толпе,

С три короба наобещали,

Но вот что скажу я тебе -

Только четыре истины

Несомненны из века в век,

С тех пор, как родилось время,

Как на ноги встал человек:

Возвращается пёс к блевотине;

Ищет грязь любая свинья;

Дурак с обожженным пальцем

Снова крутится у огня;

И - это так же верно, 

Так есть и будет всегда, 

Как жжется пламя смертельно, 

Как течёт и мочит вода, - 

Когда все люди поверят,

Что нет воздаянья за грех, 

Боги Азбучных Истин вернутся

И перережут всех. 

The Gods of the Copybook Headings

AS I PASS through my incarnations in every age and race,

I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market Place.

Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,

And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.

We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn

That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:

But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,

So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.

We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,

Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market Place,

But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come

That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.

With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch,

They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch;

They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings;

So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.

When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.

They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.

But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,

And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "Stick to the Devil you know."

On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life

(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)

Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,

And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "The Wages of Sin is Death."

In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,

By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;

But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,

And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "If you don't work you die."

Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew

And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true

That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four

And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.

As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man

There are only four things certain since Social Progress began.

That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,

And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;

And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins

When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,

As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,

The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!

Сэр Редьярд Киплинг